


"he's not my captain"

by EdwardNotSoLittle



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Crozier is dad, Gen, Jopson is son, i got you dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22258558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdwardNotSoLittle/pseuds/EdwardNotSoLittle
Summary: Jopson confronts Crozier amid his self-isolation after a rescue party request has been denied.Terror Bingo:Isolation
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	"he's not my captain"

It was starting to get late already, then again, he supposed it always appeared late with such an endless night. 

The Captain hadn't been seen since the mid-day meal several hours ago. He had seemed quite vexed upon returning to Terror's walls from a meeting with Sir John on Erebus, and in turn isolated himself in the great cabin.

Jopson, having worked with Terror's Irish, melancholia plagued, Captain for several years now, and being one of the few people aboard her that had a better relationship with him, he knew how the man's mind worked. 

He was positive it was Crozier making a desperate request to send a rescue party, and he had an inkling that it had not gone well. 

It must have been denied. 

How? 

How could the Captain of an expedition in charge of over one-hundred and twenty men, not see reason? 

Three men dead on Beechey. 

One man lost overboard another died of illness. 

First Lieutenant Gore… mauled by an unknown beast. 

Yes. 

Unknown. 

The officer's of both ships were trying to hide and stop any speculative thoughts and words, even though they had originated from an officer themselves. 

Doctor Goodsir had a love for life and nature as a whole. The few chance encounters he had shared with Erebus's assistant surgeon were more than enough to make this fact very, very clear. 

Mister Goodsir looked around this frozen, ragged, and cruel tundra with a sort of innocent, enchanted, and child-like wonder. 

The man wouldn't make false claims when it came to New discoveries. If he said the footprints he'd found were two, three, maybe four times the size of a normal white bear, if he said he didn't think it even was a white bear, that was all that needed to be said. 

It was unfathomable to him, that their expedition leader failed to see that they needed help more than ever. 

No one was coming for them. 

No one knew where they were. 

Right now though, Sir John wasn't the least bit of his worries. No, the person occupying that spot lay behind the door his knuckles just made contact with. 

There was a couple moments of silence before a groan and finally a raspy croak of a voice, "Come." 

He moved the sliding door open, the low rumble as it rattled upon its track his measurement on just how far he’d open it.

As he stepped into the room he could see the two empty, no almost two, bottles of whiskey on the great cabin table and the partially full crystal cut glass held loosely in a large hand upon the table surface.

_‘Eight bells already it would seem…’_

Crozier turned his gaze from the table top to Jopson as he entered the room. 

“What is it Jopson? Does Sir John, require another audience?” he spat quite bitterly. 

Jopson hummed softly as he moved to the far desk to straighten up some books that had been disturbed, “If he did, I can assure you, sir, that I would have politely told him to you were not to be disturbed.” 

The Captain snorted, watching as he moved to stoke the small hearth near his chair warming his hands, “and you’d be lashed for insubordination.” 

It was always cold here. It likely always would be. 

Whether or whether not Terror shall be here, well… the answer to this was obvious. 

Either they’d be in some bay far away or underwater, only time would tell what would happen to her.

Light hazel pools reflected the light of the fire almost hauntingly despite the beauty of their glow, “Perhaps, but to be quite plain, Captain Franklin is not who I serve, sir.” 

Francis knew he should reprimand the lad for the deliberate lack of Sir John’s title, but at this point he was too inclined to agree it was so undeserving. 

“You are a Captain’s steward Jopson. He is your captain just as much as I.”

His steward chuckled softly as he shook his head in light protest, “Forgive me, sir, but he is not, nor will he ever be.” 

Crozier’s sea blue eyes met Jopson’s pale hazel tones, seeing not defiance but a great swell admiration. 

“I know very well what my rank is, sir, but here aboard Terror, my loyalty belongs to one man that I am to call, Captain.” Jopson said, clearing away the now empty whiskey bottles among his task of tidying up. 

Francis laughed quietly, rather amused by his young steward’s delicately spoken but clear distaste for their expedition leader. 

After a few moments of silence Jopson finally pried so very gently, “I take it the rescue party request didn’t go well, sir?” 

Captain Crozier turned to him with a look of surprise but it melted almost instantaneously when he met his small smile. 

“I know you well enough by now, sir.” the lad said simply, smile never wavering. 

The captain took a sip of his glass and nodded, “It was. That old fool will get us all killed.” 

“Captain, I am behind you, sir, always.”


End file.
